


Cursed

by Kyokuya



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:34:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29242155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyokuya/pseuds/Kyokuya
Summary: Post war. In a world where Harry decided to take down Voldemort with every means, including dark arts. However the influence Voldemort had on him was greater than he thought. Grey!Harry/PTSD/Character Death/One shot/Completed!
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Kudos: 11





	Cursed

The scent of fire, blood and death, that’s what he felt when he finally pushed the great dark lord of the 20th century, the man who named himself Lord Voldemort, onto the ground. Harry’s clothes were barely intact, scars and blood covering every inch of his skin. This was a tough fight. He can’t remember how much spells or curses they had been throwing at each other, and for sure he had no idea what kinds of dark curse he had used at the man. All he knew was as all horcruxes has been destroyed and his precious wand removed, the once powerful dark lord is now no more than an ordinary muggle old man, counting down to his death.

Harry locked his wand at the snake-face. To be honest, he no longer needs to put any more suffer to the now-dying man, as he is certainly at the brink of death. But somehow Harry cannot loosen his grip, so he just lied there, on the top of Voldemort, staring into his frightening red eyes.

And to his surprise, instead of spitting at him, Voldemort smiled. This was the most unpleasant smile Harry had seen in his life, and cold began climbing on his back.

“Well done, Harry.” He said, as blood continuing bleeding out of his white, plain as sheet body. A quick, nasty yet accurate Sectumsempra, that’s the exact curse Harry finally got him.

“But beware, you are cursed till your last breath. You can never run away from me, Potter. NEVER.” 

After saying this, Harry found the man beneath him began to degrade, and within seconds, he was gone, exactly like how poor Professor Quirrell died in his first year. The dark lord who plagued England for so many years had finally turned into ashes.

With his ears still ringing, he stood up, looked around, and was then surrounded by his friends. They cried and laughed, tears and blood came together. The war was finally over.

And yet, his mind was repeating Voldemort’s last words. NEVER, it says.

Getting back to their old normal life was not as easy. As Hogwarts was still under reconstruction, and the Privet Drive no longer being his home, Harry had to stuck with the Weasleys. It’s not saying staying with them is bad, but Harry can always feel the stillness around the house. He happened to meet with George, and the hollowness in his eyes was just unbearable. 

Something else has been coming toward him as well. As the war settled, and scars were finally healed, rumors grew from the dark. It first began with some chitchats in bars, or small talks in streets. People bowed at him for killing the dark lord, but whispered at his back, telling tales of him dabbing too far in the dark arts. The next thing came to his notice, or precisely came to everyone’s notice was articles posted on the Daily Prophet. He didn’t quite catch who wrote the article as he flinched the moment he saw his photo on the front page, but he still read the title clearly.

The-boy-who-lived or the Next Dark Lord, it says.

It didn’t take long for Harry to skim through the whole text. The article was written anonymously, by someone who claimed to be at the scene during his fateful duel against you-know-who. Harry grimaced at the name, but without saying anything, he carried on reading. The author kept on rambling about how many dark curses he had used during the fight, how terrible the curses were, and how dangerous Harry could be, which made Harry chuckled darkly. 

Frankly, this was quite familiar to him. All these articles, rumors that accusing him of doing things he had never done, was just like the days in his fourth grade. And in fact, he was quite used to it.

To fight with a monster, you have to become a monster first. Just as the old muggle saying goes, when you look long into an abyss, the abyss looks into you. Harry had learnt this hard from the early on, and somehow, he found himself understanding part of Tom Riddle’s belief.

There is no good and evil, there is only power and those too weak to seek it. And if defeating Voldemort means he had to taint his hand with the dark arts, he will go for it.

So, he replied Ron and Hermione’s hushing with a polite smile, telling them it was nothing compared to what he had been through in year five. The rumors came quickly and vanished quickly. Public was not as interested in a war hero’s personal life, and soon turn to other more entertaining gossips. As winter draws close, he found himself buried in books and charms, busy preparing for the upcoming Auror test. Sometimes he did look out from the window, wondering if somehow a white, familiar bird would show up on his window edge, brushing her beautiful white coat as hooting calmly. Yet she never came.

“Easy, Mr. Potter, unless you want to poke your partner’s eyes out.” Harry blinked, and found his wand pointing dangerously close to one of his peers. For one second, he can’t tell where he was, as the smell of burnt body slowly fade away from his nose.

“Umm, sorry for that.” He retreated his wand and grumbled, seeing his partner staring at him in shock. 

His partner seemed not to be pleased at all. His face was white as sheet. He took a few step back, looking and shouted, “I’m out, Potter. I’m not playing this with you.” He then stormed out of the training room, leaving Harry standing alone.

Harry stood, clenching his wand, as pieces of memories came back to his mind. He knew why his partner was so afraid. He was doing his Auror training, and unmistakably, the curse that almost fell out of his mouth was a dark one.

He had zoned out. And somehow, when his partner raised his wand towards him, Harry found himself back at the Hogwarts Quidditch ground, with Voldemort staring at him.

After that day, Harry’s hallucination only became worse. His body would tighten whenever someone pulls their wands out, and in the worse cases, he would send curses to whoever dare using their wand pointing at him. He became the top of the duel training, always knocking his partner out, until in the end no one want to group up with him. Harry tried hard not to attack his partner that fiercely, but each time he pulls out his wand, he only sees Voldemort.

He remembered Voldemort’s last word. You are cursed, he said. Is it why he sees the ghost? The reason why he was trapped, in the very day that he had beaten his archenemy? Harry could do nothing but bite down his anxiety, as he was the-boy-who-lived, the war hero, and should not be bothered by his past enemy’s shadow.

As they were sent out tracking down the dark wizards among the most tainted streets, Harry began taking Dreamless Drop on and off. It’s not like he was having bad dreams or anything, no, it’s only because there is a small inner voice telling him try to evade something. Harry didn’t have any idea with what he was running away from, until one night he happened to run out of stock, and landed in a familiar, white place.

The King-cross Station. Except it’s not limbo, but a memory of his past, a mind palace of his own. He reached the platform nine and three quarters, and sat on the bench, waiting for the Hogwarts Express to come.

“Nice that you finally join me. I’ve been waiting for you for quite a long time.” A familiar, yet disturbing voice said. Harry snapped to his right, only finding a young Tom Riddle, sitting on the other end of the bench.

“Hello there, I hope I haven’t scared you.” Young Tom Riddle smiled. Harry now can tell he was the exact Tom in his sixth year, still dressing in Slytherin robe. Beside him was some luggage, all in all he looked like a normal Hogwarts student.

But how? Why is he here? Harry began to wonder. Even though he knew he was dreaming, his mind was still perfectly clear. He remembered Dumbledore saying the last horcrux, himself, should be destroyed as Voldemort shoot that Avada Kedavra towards him. 

Unless, Dumbledore was wrong, and the last piece of Voldemort still lives with him, lurking out for some day coming back from the realm of death. The very thought dread him, and he could barely open his mouth.

“Are you alive?” Harry asked, noticing his voice hoarse.

“Ahh, that, and I thought you have a better answer to that than I do.” Tom smirked, shooting Harry with a glance.

Harry flinched, remembering the second Voldemort disappear under his hand. When he said farewell to Dumbledore in the King-Cross Station, leaving the ugly baby behind. There was no way for Voldemort to be alive. 

“So, you are dead then.” Harry said, still clutching his wand under his robe, “You are merely an image, born from my memories.”

To his surprise, Tom wasn’t offended by his claim at all. He just stood up; eyes fixed on Harry. For a while he didn’t say a thing, and then he began to giggle. The giggle soon became an insanely laugh, and Harry could do nothing but sitting still on the bench, waiting for whatever was coming out of Tom’s mouth.

“How foolish, how naïve. Oh, my poor Potter, I almost feel sad for you.” his laughter finally died down, “I’m just an image? You are thinking too low of me, Potter.”

A white, slender wand slithered out of Tom’s robe, he held it in his hand in his usual elegant way, and slowly walked to Harry’s face. The cold wand tip poke on Harry’s bang, revealing the scar under that. 

“What? I killed you, with my very own hand.” Harry barked, pushing Tom’s hand away from him. 

“You see, I am dead, for sure. Yet I am so much alive at the same time.” Tom purred, and pressed on, “Haven’t you ever thought how influenced you were? How our souls were entangled all these years, making you know every single detail of me?”

“Ah, and now you would say that was part of your little project with Dumbledore, just to find out where I hid my horcruxes. Exactly what you planned to say right? My dear?” Tom gently touched Harry’s skin, tracing the scar mark, “And you didn’t even notice, you are lost, so lost. You’ve got yourself lost in my past, and now, you can never leave me.”

“Don’t you feel that? Wasn’t that the reason you are seeing me today, here, in this form?”

Harry couldn’t say a thing. He wanted to leave here immediately, but he can’t move even an inch as if his body was glued to the bench. So he just stared.

“Yes, let me say that out for you. You miss me. How irony. All these years, all those efforts you had put into killing me, and at the end of your hero story, you can’t just let me go.”

“You liar!” Harry snapped and shouted, but in the next moment, Tom grabbed him by his collar, dragging him until they were nose to nose.

“Look at me, Potter. Don’t you see? I am alive, very much alive, even more alive than I ever was. And guess who should I thank for? You! You called me. This, is all you want, me, your archenemy, someday somehow put a deadly curse to your silly head.” Tom hissed, clearly on the edge of spitting words in Parseltongue. “I live off your memories, or to be precisely, your memories of me. And as far as I can tell, you live, I live.”

“And all those hallucinations? Was that your makings? Your curse?” Harry whispered weakly, already knowing the answer.

“You made yourself see it, Potter. The curse can be real or fake, depends on how you look at it. But just letting you know, Potter, you can never run away from me.”

At the same moment, all the things around them shifted. Fire spread out, bricks fell, and the whole station crumbled. To Harry’s horror, Tom’s face began to melt like a burnt-out candle. Within seconds, the good-looking, Slytherin Perfect Tom was gone, leaving him staring at the very face that Lord Voldemort always had.

The ground beneath them cracked, and they fell into abyss.

Harry woke up, screaming in his bed. The world in front of him was still a white blur. With shaking hands, he put on his glasses, only noticing his shirt was soaked wet. He was still in his room in the Burrows.

That was too real to be a dream, he thought. But before he could remember more detail, he heard someone knocking at his door.

“You all right, mate?” He heard Ron said. 

“Fine.” He answered, cold sweat still dipping from his back.

He was then thrown back to his routine Auror work. Chasing down dark wizards, investigating abnormal cases, or just wander through the Knockturn Alley. Now and then, Voldemort’s shadow lurked beneath every dark wizards’ hood. He chased them down, sent them to trials, but every time when the case is closed, what he felt was nothing but hollow.

“Got you.” He whispered, once again he grabbed a dark wizard by his wrist. The wizard’s hood fell off during the chase, and under that was a fifty-year-old old man, with scars and burnt mark on his head. Harry didn’t even bother to check what did the wizard look like. He cast a quick body binding curse and sent him to his Auror partners.

“You can never get me, Potter.” A distant, yet familiar voice said. Harry jumped to his feet and looked around, only seeing strains of black hair sliding out from the dark wizard’s hood.

For one second, he swore he saw that very Slytherin Perfect under that hood, but in the next second, it’s just the old man using his bloodshot eyes staring back at him.

“Come, find me if you can.” Voldemort’s voice rang again.

He pulled out his wand, feeling adrenaline pumping in his vein once more. The Knockturn Alley extended in front of him, and within seconds, he disappeared in the darkest mist of wizarding London.

I will destroy you, he thought, unknowing this is the curse he bore for his life.


End file.
